It had been a long day in my New England home, writing screenplays and making hundreds of phone calls to David, my boyfriend out in California. I did not cease to run up the phone bill, and after about nine calls I realized - the dear is not home. It had been so much, and the only thing I can ever do to clear my mind of the day's troubles is to sit upon the dirty, damp roof at night and gaze up at the stars. But tonight was different than most, for tonight was the night that a comet - Haley's Comet - was to blaze across the Vermont sky. Now, of course one would wonder, what is the bliss of sitting on a cold, wet rooftop staring dreamily up at the sky and watch a rare comet with one's mouth open like a codfish, meanwhile catching a horrible cold? Everything, my friend. Everything. There is a certain odd pleasure that becomes my mood, a peculiar sense of comfort. Tonight would be a special night; I could feel it, twitching in my fingers. Pulling on my overcoat, I made my way outside, and climed up the the ivy that grew on the walls. As I reached the top I looked out through my windtossed hair, and mine eyes fell upon the familiar figure of a man, sitting in my star-staring place. Certainly not my landlord, nor my little brother. Someone I am very close to, whose dusty hair never falls correctly around his face, and who always wears a blue Adidas jacket on cold nights - David! I quickly stumbled over the top-most vines, and make it onto the roof. Dave stays sitting still, silent, his head to the sky watching the stars. I creep over to the spot next to him and lay my head on his shoulder, smiling. "Didn't expect to find you here," I whispered into his ear. "I didn't expect you would," he whispered back. He broke his gaze from the sky and looked into my longing eyes. "You know I would never miss watching Haley's Comet with you, hun." His right arm slipped around my shoulders and rested his hand on my upper arm. Heads tilted, our temples touching - nothing could damp my spirits now. "Davie," I said to him, lifting his head with mine to the sky. "The comet's coming." And what great timing that was. The second my lips formed the last syllable, Haley's Comet rode across the sky with such splendor and beauty as the single rose that blooms in the desert. The head of the comet shone a bright powder-blue, made of dust and ice, tainted with purples; its tail was flaming with blue and silver, and in it was visible millions of chunks of ice, one of which appeared as a heart, symbolizing the love of two fools on a wet roof in Jersey. We watched as the comet blazed out of sight, our eyes transfixed to the burning ball of ice. Then after it was gone, both pairs of eyes locked with each other and the only thing that mattered was the existence of us. To break a lasting silence, uttered simultaneously, there was whispered six words between us: "I love you."
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